


Perverse Pleasure

by helens78



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Era, Community: fan_flashworks, Couch Sex, M/M, Quickies, Role Reversal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 13:37:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have ten minutes, and the most expedient way to keep the furniture neat involves a bit of a change-up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perverse Pleasure

**Author's Note:**

> PWP. Mild angst.

«We have ten minutes,» Charles sends, already out of his sport jacket and waistcoat, working on the buttons of his shirt. «Get naked.»

"What does it _look_ like I'm doing?" Erik hisses. Charles doesn't pause in getting out of his clothes, but he does spare a glance Erik's direction-- which makes it very clear that yes, Erik's on the same page that Charles is, getting undressed as quickly as he can. In fact, with fewer layers and buttons, Erik's already managed to rid himself of shoes, socks, and turtleneck, and now he's just got his jeans to deal with.

Damn. Charles is falling behind. He whips his shirt off over his head and gets rid of the singlet, too, and then it's just his trousers, boxers, shoes, socks.

He's only managed to kick off the shoes and push the trousers down before Erik's on him, shoving him down over the back of the sofa. "Got you," Erik breathes.

«Not fair,» Charles sends back, wriggling as best he can to send his trousers and boxers down to his knees. «I wasn't ready.»

"You're the one who wanted to rush things," Erik says. He rubs up against Charles's backside-- oh, oh God, he's hard, he's perfect, but there _is_ an element missing.

«Not this much of a rush!» Charles quickly sends. He plants the image in Erik's mind: his jacket pocket, a tube of hand cream, one that he picked up on the road. Erik gives Charles a bit of space as he leans down and grabs it, and Charles takes the opportunity to struggle out of the rest of his clothes.

The back of the sofa seems like a perfectly reasonable place to be, though, so Charles goes right back to it once he's naked. He spreads his legs and waits, two fingers up at his temple, making sure... good. No one's going to be coming this way for a while.

Erik comes back up, and Charles jumps a bit when Erik slips two greased fingers between Charles's cheeks-- the hand cream is colder than Charles expected, he should really start storing it in his _trouser_ pockets. But soon enough, it's warmed up, and Erik's fingers are long and slim inside him, slim in just the way his cock _isn't_. Charles moans desperately as Erik slips his fingers out and lines up again. It's just what he needs, just what this damn _day_ needs, he's wanted Erik all day long, and now he can have him. Or Erik can have Charles, rather, and he does, _God_ , he pushes into Charles's body, fast and deep, making Charles gasp aloud as the heat and weight of Erik's cock fills him up.

«I wanted this so much,» Erik sends. His thoughts feel a little desperate to Charles, too, and it's good to hear that, so good, Charles loves it when Erik lets Charles see that much of him. Loves it when Erik shows Charles that he's in it _with_ Charles, that their newfound partnership means as much to Erik as it has to Charles since the day they met, that there's nowhere else on Earth Erik would rather be at this moment. Nowhere else, just here, in this drawing room, with Charles bent over a sofa for him and bracing himself against thrust after thrust, taking it with as much passion as Erik can give it.

«I wanted it, too,» Charles sends back. Erik reaches down and grabs hold of Charles's hips, pinning him as he rams in again, oh God, so hard, it's nearly enough to move the sofa. Thank God the furniture at the mansion is sturdy. «I wanted you, I always do, you know that, don't you? I'm always thinking of this, I always want this, do it, harder, have me, _fuck me_.»

Erik sucks in a breath-- he always does, when Charles's curses go Anglo-Saxon on him-- and speeds up the pace, brutal, _thrilling_. There's nothing better than this, losing himself in Erik's need, his body singing out with pleasure every time Erik fills him up, and he needs that release, needs to feel Erik lose himself, too-- «Erik, yes, Erik, _please_ , please, Erik, do it, come in me, I want you to, give me that, _give it to me!_ »

With a low, guttural cry, Erik does-- one more thrust and he's there, fingers clutching at Charles's hips, cock pulsing hard in Charles's body. « _Mine_ » makes its way out of Erik's mind, though Charles isn't entirely sure Erik meant to send it. It doesn't matter, though. Charles takes that word and clings to it, holding onto it. _Yours, and you're mine, too,_ he thinks. _You aren't going anywhere._

As soon as Erik eases back, Charles turns around, his hand wrapped around his cock. He's burning for it himself, now, dying for his own release, but if they stain the furniture there are bound to be questions, or odd looks, or something, at any rate. Erik knows that, and he's the one who suggested the most expedient solution to the problem-- and so when he drops to his knees, Charles surges forward, letting Erik swallow him down, letting Erik take him in.

Erik on his knees-- God, it's a sight that would undo Charles all on its own, given how Erik isn't one for kneeling. He's never able to resist it for very long, the sight of Erik down there, the feel of Erik's mouth around his cock. Hot, slick, and greedy, all sorts of things that Charles associates with _himself_ much more than with his lover.

He thinks there's a part of Erik that derives a certain perverse pleasure from this, that loves being on his knees with Charles's cock pistoning in and out of his mouth precisely _because_ it isn't who they usually are, but once he's there, Charles can never think about _why_ \-- all he can do is give Erik his cock, give it to him once and twice and again, and then he's coming, all the thoughts in his mind reduced to one glorious pulse of pleasure, one long rush that Erik swallows down whole.

It leaves Charles winded, bracing himself on Erik's shoulders, gasping for air as Erik lets Charles's cock slip free of his mouth... and licks his lips, the bastard. Charles grins dizzily down at him, and Erik smiles right back.

«All right?» Erik sends.

And maybe that's the other thing Charles loves about Erik on his knees, Erik giving Charles his mouth. Erik doesn't like to talk through the hoarseness of an aching throat, so for a while after it's this. Just this, mind-to-mind. Charles nods down at him, stroking a hand through Erik's hair.

«More than all right,» he sends. The weight of his emotion probably bleeds through, a bit-- all the things he wants to give Erik, in time, when he's not concerned it'll send Erik running for the hills-- but here and now, Erik just stands up and wraps his arms around Charles, smiling down against his shoulder.

«Still safe? No one coming?»

Charles nods, leaning all his weight against Erik. For all that Erik is slender as a reed, at times like this Charles knows that Erik can hold up the both of them, carry them for as long as he's needed.

«No one coming,» Charles confirms.

Erik kisses him. It isn't the rushed, quick motion they share sometimes; it's soft and easy and... God, does Charles dare think this even to himself, _tender_. It makes Charles moan, winding his arms around Erik's neck, holding him as close as he can.

He could go on like this forever. Just like this, kissing Erik, being close to him, no one else in either of their worlds...

But of course that isn't what they have. Even as he's wishing it could last the rest of the afternoon, he senses someone coming down the hall. His little mental burst of annoyance flashes through to Erik, and instantly they're parting, tugging on their clothes, trying to make it look as though they haven't just been shagging like wild animals all over the drawing room.

By the time Hank knocks at the door, Charles only has to run his hands through his hair, and Erik's at the chessboard, contemplating a move. "Come in," Charles calls out, and Hank does, more research to share, the world moving on in spite of all Charles would do to keep it still a little longer.

_-end-_  



End file.
